


trigger-happy / gunshy

by kermiethefrog



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Bottom Sam Winchester, Dark Dean Winchester, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, First Time, Gaslighting, M/M, Manipulative Dean Winchester, Possessive Behavior, Sexual Assault, Sexual Coercion, Top Dean Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-16
Updated: 2018-08-16
Packaged: 2019-06-28 01:44:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,538
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15697605
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kermiethefrog/pseuds/kermiethefrog
Summary: It's Dean's eighteenth birthday, and there's only one thing he wants. Sam really should be more grateful—there are a thousand things Dean can think up off the top of his head that's so much worse than giving it up for your big brother.





	trigger-happy / gunshy

**Author's Note:**

> pls let it be known that despite sam admitting to certain things (being sexually attracted to dean, trusting him wholeheartedly), there should be absolutely no doubt that he does not and Cannot give his consent in this situation. everything he says as a positive reaction to dean is coerced, which dean is not only fully aware of but enjoys. 
> 
> written for the bad things bingo over on [tumblr](https://badthingshappenbingo.tumblr.com/). for the request wincest & attempted rape.
> 
> this is by Far the darkest thing i have ever written and will most likely be the darkest thing i have ever written i really just cant imagine a scenario worse than this

It’s Dean’s eighteenth birthday, and there’s only one thing he wants. 

Good thing Sammy’s a little slut.

He turns Dean on so often, Dean’s half-hard more than he isn’t. Sam casts Dean half-lidded looks and bites his lower lip and clings, cuddles in close like a fucking virgin girlfriend. The way he says _please_ and _thank you_ sounds like he wants to get fucked, a soft lilt of sweetness that Dean can taste in the roof of his mouth.

So it’s not Dean’s fault, really. Sammy’s been tempting him since Dean figured out how his dick worked. Sam’s a beautiful fucking kid, but it’s always the pretty ones who turn out to be dirty whores that need a little more persuading to put out. Dean’s had first-time (or gently-used, and those are always fun to wreck) pussy in every state in the continental U.S.—he knows how to convince a dumb bitch to drop her panties. He practically wrote the handbook on it.

And if she still says no, well—Dean doesn’t train every day to pussy out when someone says no.

Dean doesn’t think he’ll have to force baby brother into anything, but either way, Sam’s not gonna be an exception to that.

Dad’s on a late night shift with Jim, Jack, and José, which means a few hours alone with Sammy, at the very least. Little brother’s clingier than normal tonight, which suits Dean just fine—he spends the first hour half-hard with Sam practically on his lap as they watch late-night reruns of _Jonny Quest_. Sam keeps looking over his shoulder at the digital alarm clock by the beds and giving Dean furtive glances like he’s keeping some secret. 

It’s fucking adorable. Dean knows: Sammy only has eyes for his big brother.

The day shifts over to the twenty-fourth, and Sam interrupts an infomercial on mattresses to give him a toothy grin, hands pressed against Dean’s thigh as he rings out a cheery, “Happy birthday!”

A few inches higher, baby boy would be touching his dick. Dean grins back, ruffles Sammy’s hair, gives him a kiss on his forehead. Sam melts into the affection.

Dean’s given Sammy thirteen years of his fucking life. He’ll give him the rest he has, too. It’s no wonder his little brother loves him so much; Dean could bruise him black and blue, could treat him like shit, could ignore him, could leave him behind to chase demons like Dad does. He could do a lot worse than cop a feel when Sammy’s sleeping—could do a lot worse than teach Sammy how to ride his dick, too—but he doesn’t, because he’s a good fucking brother. All the shit he thinks about doing to Sam, and he’ll only ever do the shit he knows Sammy will like.

That’s love, Dean thinks. A real and visceral love. He’d die for Sammy. It’s only fair Sammy would die for him, too.

Sam’s gotten him a slice of convenience store cherry pie—fucking appropriate for what Dean has planned, and he grins through every bite and shares the last one with his baby brother—and gets tucked in for it, the full force of Dean’s sweet big brother act coming out in spades. He sits on the mattress next to Sammy, pushes hair from his eyes, strokes his face. Sam’s got a pretty pink flush on his little brother cheeks, dimpling softly as he tilts into the touch.

“Dean?” Sam asks. His voice is so small—young and quiet and soft, a little sleepy. It makes Dean hard in an instant, the kind of voice that he fantasizes about. 

Patience wears itself thin. His mouth tastes sweet and his tongue wants to know if Sam’s tastes the same, if it tastes like little boy, if it tastes better because it’s his brother. He drops in over Sam, knees bracketing his baby brother’s thighs, forearm coming down beside his head. Caging him in. Dean doesn’t want Sammy to think he has any outs from the start.

“What are you doin’?” Sammy whispers. It’s innocent confusion, and it makes Dean smile. Sam trembles underneath Dean’s hand, and Dean’s thumb slides over his baby lips. “Dean?”

“You love me, right, Sammy?” Dean asks. Sam nods enthusiastically, eyes wide and wondering. “How much? Tell me how much you love me.”

“Everything,” Sam starts—his voice sounds a little choked, and he clears it. Dean watches the adam’s apple bob in his tight throat. “You’re everything, Dean.”

“That’s right,” Dean murmurs, and Sam smiles like he’s pleased he got the answer right. Dean leans down and dips the tip of his tongue into Sam’s dimple.

His baby brother gasps softly. So fucking hot. Dean pushes the heel of his palm into his hard dick and kisses the corner of Sam’s mouth. 

“Dean?” It’s nearly noiseless, so quiet that Dean could pass it off for an exhale. 

“It’s my birthday,” Dean says by way of an answer. Sam nods, a little slow, and gasps again when Dean kisses his other cheek. Sammy’s chest is heaving up and down so hard that it presses against Dean’s with every inhale. “You’re gonna be good on my birthday, right?”

“Ye—yeah,” Sam breathes out. “A’course, Dean—”

Dean licks his tongue into Sam’s mouth, and the frightened little boy noise that Sam makes has Dean grinding his hips into his palm.

“What’s happening?” Sam asks, hands moving up to fist into Dean’s t-shirt. He looks dazed, spit slicking his upper lip, and Dean’s fingers dip into Sammy’s cheek. “I don’t understand—”

“Don’t be fucking stupid. You know what a kiss is, right, Sammy?” Dean mocks, raising an eyebrow. Sam flushes underneath him, shoulders curling in, and Dean shushes him, grip growing soft again. He strokes his thumb over Sam’s cheek. “It’s okay, Sammy. You trust me, right?”

“I trust you.” It’s quiet, but it’s there. When Dean leans down to kiss him, Sam presses back hesitantly, and heat lights up so smothering in Dean’s chest he nearly gets dizzy from it.

“You love me?” Dean asks against Sam’s lips. Sam nods, blinks back wetness in his lashes. “No matter what I do, you love me?”

“Yeah—” When Sam opens his mouth to talk, Dean licks in, and Sam huffs out a breath through his nose as Dean’s tongue drags against the inner pink of his lips. 

“You ever touch yourself?”

Sam freezes, looking away guiltily in a way that has Dean slipping his hand under the waistband of his sweatpants and squeezing his own cock. 

“Yeah, baby boy?” Sam hitches a breath at the nickname, and Dean grins, bending his head to kiss Sam again. This time, baby brother tilts into it. So fucking hot. “You play with yourself, huh? You ever think about me?”

Sam flushes. Nods. “Sometimes,” he chokes out, just a whisper.

“Think about my cock, baby boy?”

Voice even smaller. “Sometimes.”

 _Fuck_. Dean knows a slut when he sees one. Wonders how early he could’ve gotten Sammy started on sucking dick. 

“Are you touching yourself, Dean?” Sam whispers, eyes wide as he tries to glance down. Dean strokes slow and lazy, smiles just the same.

“Yeah, Sammy,” Dean answers, and Sam’s breathing speeds up, “thinkin’ ‘bout how fucking hot you must look when you’re jerking off.”

“Oh,” Sammy breathes out, and it’s so fucking soft that Dean thinks he could smother it with the tip of his tongue.

“Can you come yet, baby? Anythin’ come out?”

Sam flushes. “A little,” he admits.

Dean hovers over Sam’s lips, waits. Sam pushes up into it after a moment, a closed-mouth innocent kiss. Dean’s cock jumps in his hand and he has to pull away from it to keep himself from blowing his load too fucking soon. “You gonna show me?” he asks. Voice feels torn up in his throat—Sammy’s the one who does this to him.

“But—but it’s bad,” Sam whispers. He blinks quick, tries to push up at Dean’s chest. “Dean, we’re not s’posed to—” Dean stays solid, grinning as he swallows the next words Sam’s about to say. 

Maybe Sammy realizes what’s happening. Maybe he decides to be a fucking prude, or maybe he decides to be a bitch about things—or maybe he knows that fighting back makes something feral drown Dean’s lungs, makes him so fucking hot for it—but little brother starts struggling against him, pushing harder, trying to kick his legs out, the blanket going askew down the bed. Dean drops his hips to pin them down. 

“We shouldn’t be doing this. It’s wrong,” Sam says as he wiggles underneath him. Doesn’t matter what he says, Dean knows baby boy can feel how hard he is. The way Sam’s struggling has little brother thigh rubbing against big brother dick—Sammy’s slutty body wants it, no matter what he says. He can feel Sam’s hard against him, too.

“Who says?” Dean shoots back. His hand is broad against Sammy’s chest, spread out so wide it nearly covers the expanse of it. His fingers run over little boy tits and Sam bites down a whimper. “Dad? Normal people? Hate to break it to you, Sammy, but none of ‘em really care about what we do. We ain’t normal.”

“I wanna be normal,” Sam tries weakly. Baby boy confesses to thinking about Dean’s dick when he’s getting off and then lies about wanting to be normal. What a fucking joke.

Dean twists a nipple between his fingers, and Sammy arches into it. Normal boys don’t do that kinda shit. “You don’t wanna be normal,” Dean says. Sam bites his lip. “You wanna be a good boy for me.”

“Dean, you’re scaring me,” Sam whispers.

It makes Dean’s eyebrow twitch. “I thought you trusted me, Sammy.”

“I do,” Sam tries. Dean puts a hand over his mouth.

“Then shut the fuck up and be good for me.”

Sammy’s a crier. Dean loves that—loves seeing someone sobbing and gasping through ugly tears as they’re being fucked. Sam’s pretty even when his face screws up and he’s wailing and has snot coming down his nose—Dean knows, has seen Sammy cry like that more than once. Right now, as Dean sits up on his knees and yanks his little brother’s shirt off, Sam’s only crying soft tears, more confused than scared.

Dean likes those, too. Reminds him of high school cheerleaders when they don’t realize they shouldn’t have taken that open drink. Sammy doesn’t even need to be drugged up and he’s turning Dean on more than anybody else. Not that Dean ever expected anything else; he’s been so in love with his baby brother, he can’t imagine their first time being anything less than fucking perfect. 

“Dean,” Sammy whimpers. His chest is small and skinny and fragile. Dean knows he could snap Sam’s collarbone with one punch if he really wanted. He wraps his fingers around Sam’s throat instead, and Sam goes wide-eyed, fingers clutching the bedsheets. “Don’t, I don’t wanna—this isn’t funny, I’m scared—”

“You’re fine, baby,” Dean murmurs. He can feel Sam’s heartbeat racing underneath his palm. “Just playin’ around.”

Sam lets out a quiet, choked off whine when Dean squeezes, digging just a fraction of an inch into his baby brother’s throat—his grip smooths out and he presses his palm over the side of Sam’s neck, thumb running over his adam’s apple. Sam stutters out a shaky breath, eyes still blown a little wide like he can’t let himself relax.

“See, Sammy?” Dean says gently, ducking his head down to press a soft kiss to his brother’s lips. “Told you to trust me, didn’t I? M’not gonna do anythin’ that won’t make you feel good, baby.”

Sam glances at him, lets his eyes slide away, finds his gaze again. His fingers twist in the sheets, an ebb-and-flow of his grip loosening and tightening again. His body is so tightly wound, tension that’s poised like a readied bow, that Dean could snap it with a tug; he runs his fingers through Sammy’s growing hair instead.

“Don’t I always make you feel good, Sammy?” Dean asks, too-sweet, eyebrows raising. 

Sam flounders a bit, but he can’t deny what’s true. “Yeah, Dean, always, but—”

“Don’t you wanna make me feel good, too?”

Sam’s lower lip wobbles. A hand releases its hold on the sheets so the back of it can be dragged across wet lashes. “Yeah, a’course, Dean, but—”

“I’m eighteen now, Sammy. You know what adults do to feel good, right?”

“I—I know, I know, but—”

“We can’t always do what you wanna do, Sam. That’s not fair. If we always do what you wanna do, then I’m gonna get tired of being with you. I don’t want that, Sammy. Do you?”

Sam looks horrified, his mouth drawn open as he lets out a noise of protest, strangled in his tight throat. His hand shoots out and he grips the fabric by Dean’s shoulder, a nervous shiver running through him that Dean soothes with the palms of his hands down Sam’s ribcage. “I don’t,” Sammy warbles out. Dean can see another _but_ bubbling up on his lips that he has to bite down, and Dean rewards him with a fond smile.

“Me neither, baby boy,” he reassures. Sam stays patient and still when Dean leans in to kiss him, his little brother’s mouth wet and thick with saliva when he licks into it. “Wanna be with you forever, Sammy.”

Permission wheedled out with careful hands, Dean eases off Sam’s thighs, settling between his brother’s legs. His fingertips slide underneath the waistband of Sam’s panties, and he sees the half-hitched breath that fills up Sam’s chest before he drags them down, hooked behind his knees as he drags hairless legs up off the bed. Small hands shoot down to cover up modestly, but it doesn’t matter; Dean’s stronger, and it doesn’t take much effort for him to drag Sam’s hands away to reveal the sweet, pink cock he catches glimpses of in the corner of his eyes.

He pins Sam’s wrists down with one hand, wraps the other around Sam’s little prick; baby brother jumps, back arching as much as it can with his legs still hanging in the air. Dean runs the pad of his thumb over the tip, across the slit—drags out precum and licks it off his thumb with a grin. “You gettin’ hard, Sammy?” he teases, and Sam flushes, features scrunching up like he’s trying not to cry again. “Spent all that time resistin’ when all you really wanted was for big brother to touch you, huh?”

Sam’s speechless, teeth biting down into the plush of his pout so hard that Dean’s worried he’s gonna break through the skin. Dean reaches up, thumbs at Sammy’s lower lip to get him to release it. “Don’t be shy, Sammy,” he says, edging his thumb in between Sam’s lips to press against the edge of teeth. “You’re beautiful, baby.”

There’s a quiet moment where Dean takes his time running his hands over Sam’s thighs, tugging his panties off and throwing them to the bottom of the bed beside Sam’s sleep shirt. He pushes Sam’s knees up, straightening so he can press a kiss to the delicate arch of his brother’s foot, smiling when Sam squirms. Then, as Dean presses his palms to the backs of Sam’s thighs, his baby brother asks quietly, “I am?”

Dean flicks his eyes up, kissing the side of Sam’s knee as he raises his eyebrow. “Hmm?” he hums in question; his heart drags onto the back of his tongue when Sam drops his legs open, just half an inch. 

“I’m—beautiful?” Sam croaks, voice trembling, so flushed it goes down his throat and chest. 

_Fuck_. If the feeling that swarms his throat, that drowns out his lungs, that claws and carves out his chest isn’t love, then Dean’s not sure what it is. There’s nothing more powerful than the way he wants Sam; it’s so consuming that sometimes Dean feels like it’s the only thing that keeps him held together. 

“Yeah, Sammy.” His voice feels a little too close to honesty—but Dean’s always on the verge of being truthful when faced with Sam’s sweet-faced expression. “Most beautiful baby I’ve ever laid eyes on.”

Sam blinks slow, worries his lip again, turns his cheek to look away, somewhere over Dean’s shoulder. Baby boy looks so conflicted; it drags something dark and proud into Dean’s stomach. “Hey, baby?” he asks, and Sam looks at him from the corners of his eyes, brows knitting. “Hold your legs up for me.”

He obeys without another word—that’s how Dean knows it’s true love. If Sam really didn’t want it, he wouldn’t go along with everything Dean says.

“Damn,” Dean hisses out, his back bending low as he peers close. He gets a handful of Sammy’s ass and pulls his palm of flesh away to reveal a pink, puckered hole—his baby brother’s boycunt, the place he dreams about being inside. Sam’s grip slips and Dean has to shoot up a hand to keep his little brother’s thin thigh from falling; his hold is a bit too tight, fingers digging into soft flesh. “Sammy, look at this tight fuckin’ hole.”

Sam lets out sweet-keened whimpers. Dean rewards the sound with the hot press of his tongue over his ass. 

“Dean!” Sam chokes out; his knees try to knock shut and Dean keeps them spread open by propping them over his shoulders. He lifts Sam’s butt off the bed, thumbs pulling apart his cheeks so he can tongue at his brother’s baby boy pussy—the whines and hitched breaths it drags out of Sammy has precum spreading over the front of Dean’s sweatpants.

“So fuckin’ tight,” Dean murmurs; he tries to wiggle the tip of his tongue in only to be met with virgin resistance. “You gotta relax, baby.”

“I can’t,” Sam whines, breathy and broken. Fresh new tears, and Dean reaches up to swipe them away with the meat of his palm. “I can’t, Dean, it feels weird—”

“If you relax, it won’t feel so fuckin’ weird,” he shoots back, and Sam shuts his mouth, one side drawn in like he’s chewing the insides of it. 

Makes his cheeks hollow where it’s still pubsecently soft-curved. Dean’s never been one for patience, and maybe tonguefucking his baby brother is for second dates; his cock is painful and pressing, hard where it tents up his sweats, and Sam’ll open up easier with fingers, he thinks. Either way, he’ll open up.

“Suck,” Dean says, holding his fingers out to Sam’s lips. Sam looks at them for a moment, biting his lower lip, and Dean narrows his eyes, letting out an impatient sigh. “Sammy—” 

Sam pops his mouth open, tongue tentative as it laps out at Dean’s fingertips. Dean pushes them into Sammy’s small mouth, pressing them against his tongue; Sam gags on them when he pushes too far, tears blooming in his eyes, and Dean pulls his fingers away spit-slicked and coated.

“Now you gotta relax, Sammy,” Dean instructs; his fingers run the rim of Sam’s hole, sees it twitching where he presses against it. “Or else this is really gonna hurt.”

Sam sucks in a quick breath that has him coughing hard, fingers digging into Dean’s shoulders when Dean presses the tip of his middle finger just beyond the tightness of Sam’s tiny boycunt. The way he tries to scramble away has him wrapping his arms around Dean’s neck, tugging him close; Dean lets out a low hush into his baby brother’s ear.

“Hurts,” Sam whines in response, coughing wetly into the crook of his throat. “It hurts! Dean, it hurts, it’s not gonna fit, it’s not—”

“It will, shh,” Dean murmurs. Sam shakes his head. “Stop, Sam. You wanna be good, right? You don’t wanna make me mad?”

“Please, Dean, I can—I can get you off with—with my hands, or—or my mouth? I can—” and Dean pauses, settling back for a moment. Sammy’s so tightly resistant Dean’s not actually sure if he’s gonna be able to get in; besides, he’s always wanted to see Sam’s little lips wrapped around his dick. Sam takes in a deep breath and reaches out, pressing his palms against Dean’s chest as he sniffles back new tears. “I want—want it in my mouth, De, don’t you wanna have my mouth instead?”

His finger pulls out and Sam whines, a faint little baby boy noise. Fuck, Sammy’s so fucking hot. Sam’s chest heaves up and down, sharp and shallow, and he fumbles through his next words, voice warbling in his small mouth. “I wanna suck your big cock,” Sam says, lifting his hands and pressing his palms against his eyelids.

It’s almost convincing enough for Dean to consider it, but he knows fucking better. Sammy’s just trying to distract Dean. Trying to keep what Dean deserves to have, because little sluts like his baby brother always tease but never put out. 

“I bet you think all this bargaining is hot, huh, Sammy?” Dean asks. Sam bites his lower lip, refuses to look at him. “It’s not. This shit is fucking annoying.”

“Dean, please don’t—”

“It’s my fucking birthday, Sammy. I asked you if you wanted to be good, and you said you did. You’re not being good right now, you’re being a bratty little bitch and you’re pissing me off. S’that what you want, Sam? You tryin’ to piss me off?” 

“I’m sorry—Dean, I’m sorry, I don’t wanna make you mad, I’ll be good—” Sam wails quietly, a high-pitched whine that’s half-muffled by his wrists. 

“You want my dick right now, don’t you?” Dean leads, raising his eyebrows at the way Sam’s mouth immediately forms a protest—it makes Sam bite down on his lower lip and nod jerkily. “Say it out loud, Sammy. Tell me you need me to fuck you right now.”

“I need—“ Sam starts, pausing to take in a stuttered, whiny breath, his eyes flooded with tears, “—I need you to fuck me.” 

“Aw, baby, but you’re still so tight. You should be prepped some more,” Dean coos. Sam’s eyes skitter around nervously, mouth gaping like he doesn’t know what the right response is. Dean knows his smile edges a bit too cruel, but it’s just too damn funny. “You sure, baby? You wanna take my cock now?”

Sam watches him for a moment silently, chewing up his lower lip; Dean’s lips quirk just a little more, and Sam finally nods, hesitant and uncertain. “N—need it, Dean,” he says, voice scratched out in his throat.

“You really are a little cockslut, huh?” Dean teases, and Sam looks up at him through wet lashes.

“Only for you,” he croaks out, and Dean feels closer to death than he’s ever felt in his life.

His heart throbs in his chest with the same heavy pulse that twitches through the base of his cock; it aches with want all the same. “Gonna make you feel so fucking good, baby, wanna hear you moan for me,” Dean promises.

Sam muffles a whimper against his tongue, and Dean sits up, lining his dick against Sam’s still-tight cunt. Precum smears against the puckered hole, and Dean lets out a steady, measured exhale through his teeth as he presses the tip of his cock against Sammy’s hole.

“Let me in, baby brother,” Dean whispers.

With the way his heartbeat sounds out in his ears, he almost doesn’t catch it at first; it’s Sam’s wide eyes and turned cheek that draws his attention to the familiar sound of the Impala’s engine rumbling close enough to hear through the motel walls.

He’s never hated the sound before, not until that moment.

Sam’s head snaps back to him, small fingers twisting in the fabric of his shirt. “Dean—Dad’s here, please—you don’t—you don’t want him to catch us, right? You don’t want him to see, right? Right, Dean?” Sam pleads; if Dean didn’t know any better, he’d say his baby brother sounds relieved. Dean ducks his head down to press a kiss to Sam’s cheek. “He’ll get mad.”

“You could be quiet,” Dean counters, and Sam shakes his head, hitching new hiccuping breaths that Dean tastes with his tongue.

“You said you—you wanted to hear me,” baby brother whispers. It’s getting kind of annoying. Sam flinches away when he growls, but then Dean gets two small, trembling hands on his jaw, gentle and sweet. It makes him pause. “I can’t show you how good it feels if I gotta be quiet, right?”

Sammy has a good fucking point. Dean knows Sam’s gonna love it, too—knows Sam must be a fucking screamer, shamelessly moaning when he gets fucked. Besides, Sammy’s not like every small town slut he’s come across—Sam’s tighter than any pussy he’s ever had, requires time to open up so he doesn’t wreck his ass for the next time Dean wants to be surrounded by baby brother pink. 

Sam is his. He’s gotta take care of him—keep him nice and pretty just the way he likes. 

Rationality wins. He leans back, dick settling heavy between his legs, and Sam sighs out a relieved sob. His spit-slicked hole puckers back up, like nothing had been trying to breach it; Dean hisses out admiration and licks his thumb, sliding it over Sam’s ass. It wins him the softest, keening moan from his little brother—he categorizes the sound for later, when Sammy’s at school and Dean has the wait out the eight hours until he can get handfuls of soft skin.

Dean gets the blankets pulled up and covering Sam just as the door opens, and he settles in beside Sammy as Dad walks in.

“Told you Sam’s too old to be sharin’ beds,” Dad grumbles after he gives them a side glance. He sounds half a fifth in and smells like death, even from halfway across the motel room. Sam whimpers out a sob. “S’matter with him?”

“He’s feeling sick,” Dean answers. Dad grunts. “I’m just helping him feel better. No need for us to go to the ER, right?”

Dad stares for a moment longer and shrugs, nodding shortly before he crosses to the bathroom. “Go to sleep. Don’t wanna hear you two talkin’ while I’m tryin’ to sleep. Got another hunt in the morning.”

“Yes, sir,” Dean responds automatically, and the bathroom door shuts behind his father.

One move, and Sam’s flipped over on his stomach; Sammy muffles a cry into Dean’s palm where he has his hand locked over Sam’s mouth in anticipation. He eases it away slowly, a silent warning for baby brother to keep quiet.

“Get me off, Sammy,” Dean instructs once the shower starts running.

Sam sniffles, turning to look at Dean over his shoulder. “I don’t know what to do,” he whimpers, voice tight in his thin throat. 

“Gimme your hand.”

Sam holds up his hand and Dean grabs his wrist, twisting his arm behind his back and guiding it to his hard cock. Baby brother makes a choked-out noise that has Dean’s dick twitching hard; he wraps his fingers around Sammy’s, forcing them into a tighter grip. They feel so tiny around his cock, don’t even make it all the way around. Sam sobs snot and saliva into the pillow as Dean starts them into a fast-paced, tight stroke. Sam’s shaking so hard underneath him, arm stretched at an uncomfortable angle behind his back, ass pushed up just a little—it’s so fucking hot, it almost makes up for not having baby brother hole for the first time.

“Gonna fuck you so soon, Sammy,” Dean murmurs, leaning down to kiss Sam’s neck. Sam shudders out a new wet sob. “Gonna feel so good in this tight ass. Tell me you want it, baby. Tell me how much I turn you on.”

“Dean, I can’t—” 

“C’mon, Sammy, don’t want Dad to come back out and see you like this, right? Gotta get me off quick, huh, baby?”

Sam buries his face into the pillow and chokes out a whimper before he turns his head, cheek pressed flat. “I want it, Dean,” Sammy whispers. His fingers tighten its hold, and Dean bites down a groan into Sam’s throat. “Can’t wait—can’t wait for you to fuck me. You turn me on so much.”

“Yeah? You like this, huh? Like touching your big brother’s dick?” Dean presses. Sam’s fingers flex in the hold before he tightens his grip again.

Sam nods, pushes his face back into the pillow. 

“You gonna jerk off thinkin’ about this, huh? Thinkin’ ‘bout me?” 

Sam wrenches out a sob. He nods again, and Dean grins, slowing his strokes. “Tell me, baby boy. Tell me what you’re gonna dream about when you touch yourself.”

He waits for Sam to wipe his eyes, watches Sammy turn to glance over his shoulder before dropping his gaze. “I don’t—I can’t, Dean, I dunno what to say, I don’t—” baby brother whispers desperately. 

Maybe he’s feeling benevolent. Nicer than Sammy fucking deserves for how much he keeps talking back, that’s for sure, and ain’t he a good older brother? “You gonna think about me touching you, baby? The way my dick feels in your hand? How bad you want to suck my cock?”

Sam nods, almost relieved—Dean swoops down to kiss his cheek. Beautiful fucking kid. Dean starts stroking faster, urging Sammy to tighten his grip. “Yeah, Dean, gonna—gonna touch myself—thinkin’ about your big cock in my—in my mouth,” he answers. He coughs wetly, wipes his eyes again. “And—and your cum—”

“You want it?” Sam nods, swallows so thickly Dean can hear it. “You’re a little slut for me, huh, baby boy?” Dean asks, nosing into the crook of Sam’s throat. He presses a big brother kiss there, right where Sam’s pulse speeds up. Sam nods, turns his face away. “Say it.”

“I’m your—your little slut.” It’s half-spoken into the pillow, thick with saliva.

“Tell me you want my cum.”

“I want your cum, Dean—”

“Where do you want it, baby boy?”

“On—on my butt?” Sammy tries, hesitant. It drags a groan out of Dean’s throat. “Is that—is that right, Dean?”

“Fuck, Sammy, yeah, you want it right against this tight little hole, huh? Want to feel my cum dripping down your thighs?” 

Sam lets out a little whimper and Dean moans again; he releases Sammy’s hand to lean back, kneeling over his baby brother’s ass. He grabs a handful and spreads it open, rubbing the tip of his dick over Sammy’s virgin pussy. It’s a few more strokes and the sound of Sam crying underneath him before Dean’s shooting cum over Sam’s ass, up against his twitching, rubbed-red hole.

He swipes his thumb over the mess he’s made, massaging it into Sammy’s skin—with a short press and a muffled baby brother cry, he pushes cum into Sam’s boycunt and lets out a hiss between his teeth. “Now you’re mine, Sammy,” Dean says. Sam is still and quiet beneath him, shoulders tense. “That’s what this means. You belong to me, now.”

He drags his sweatpants up, swings his leg over Sam’s thighs so he can pull his baby brother’s panties back up into place. Sammy stays where he is until Dean sharply raps the back of his thighs with his fingertips; baby boy lets out a yelp and looks at him over his shoulder. 

“C’mon, Sammy. Gotta get your shirt back on before Dad notices,” Dean instructs. Sam slowly turns over, wiping his eyes and nose with his wrists, and Dean grabs a tissue from the bedside table—little brother is pliant and submissive as Dean cleans his face up. He’s as gentle as he can stand to be, and Sam’s dazed little expression makes his spent dick twitch. 

Sammy holds up his arms like a good fucking boy when Dean helps with his shirt, so Dean gathers him up in his arms and holds him close, hand soothing down Sam’s small back. He kisses flushed baby brother cheeks when Sam crowds in close. “Tomorrow, okay, Sammy?” he says, and Sam shivers against his chest, hiccuping. “We’ll try again tomorrow when Dad’s gone.”

“Dean,” Sam starts, his tiny fingers tightening around Dean’s shirt, “please—”

“I know, Sammy,” Dean murmurs, pressing a kiss against Sam’s forehead. “I’m gonna teach you how to be good for me. We’re gonna go nice and slow, open you up right. You’re gonna love it, I promise. Hey, show me that smile, little brother? You know I love you, right?”

Sam gifts him a soft-dimpled smile, a quiet little nod. His eyes are unfocused, confused and shaken but clinging to what he knows is true—Dean will never stop loving him. Dean places another gentle kiss on Sam’s cheek, and this time, Sam lets out a sweet sigh.

Dean’s gonna have fun breaking down Sammy’s little head until his brain is filled with nothing but big brother thoughts.

For as much as his baby brother protests now, Dean still feels Sammy’s tiny tongue moving against his own when their mouths meet.


End file.
